


Draco's nightmare

by valancyjane74



Series: Five Years Later (post quinquennium) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Magical Tattoos, Nightmares, Pain, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25608640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancyjane74/pseuds/valancyjane74
Summary: A nightmare flashback sequence from Draco's POV, that describes how he was imprinted with the Dark Mark at the command of Voldemort, on August 3, 1996.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: Five Years Later (post quinquennium) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821316
Comments: 25
Kudos: 32





	Draco's nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nusquam aliud est vertere (Nowhere else to turn)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994118) by [valancyjane74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancyjane74/pseuds/valancyjane74). 



> This sequence details the nightmare that Draco suffers in Chapter 14 of NAEV (see above).

_I know this place. I’m standing in Borgin and Burkes antiquarian shop. It is as dark and inexorably malignant as it ever has been; I’ve been coming here since I was old enough to walk unaided. Father regularly insisted I accompany him on his many excursions to this emporium of evil artefacts. I found it fascinating, up until I’d realized that the curios and ‘objets d’art’ were imbued with strange, malevolent powers. Curses. Poisons. Depravities. Corruptions. Unhallowed horrors of human and not-so-human remains. Books thirsty for blood. Knickknacks hungry for flesh._

_I cannot smell anything, not even that pervasive whiff of musty dank that always makes me think of long-buried coffins, recently exhumed. I cannot recall how I came to be in this fell location; I snap my head to my right. Mother is here, holding my non-dominant hand as though I will fall if she loosens her grip. Aunt Bellatrix’s clawed hand digs mercilessly into my left, wrapped as it is to hold my wrist immobile: scarlet half-moons already decorate my palm as my forearm is held above a smoking cauldron._

_I remember. Today is the day I receive the Dark Mark. Voldemort has ordered I take the place of my disgraced imprisoned father in his Death Eater legion. Today I prove the Malfoy family’s true allegiance to the ‘might and right’ of the Dark Lord._

_It is my choice; Voldemort had emphasized that fact at great length, waxing poetic about the sacrifices that mature the boy into the man. A choice to be weak and meek, or strong and bold. I see my options on a much more specific plane – permanently swear fealty to this barbarous walking atrocity in stolen human form, or watch as he slaughters my parents for sport and to make an example of his pitiless powers._

_The sardonic part of me not yet completely obliterated by the forced occupation of our family home by a terrifying collection of murderers, rapists, sadists, egomaniacs and escapees from an insane asylum wants to protest that the legal coming of age is still seventeen. I should have at least one more year to avoid the responsibilities and burdens of true adulthood._

_One more year of relishing my role as Hogwarts’ reigning Slytherin Prince, lording my wealth, privilege, and popularity over the hoi polloi. One more year of sneering down my aristocratic nose at the rabble, perpetually taking the mickey out of the pathetic antics of Harry Potter and his fuckwitted Weasel sidekick. One more year of watching and wanting the girl I can’t have – the girl I daren’t even talk to, unless it is to bait her with a filthy slur – as she looks at me as though I’m little more than a talking inhuman golem, fashioned from dust and lower than a sewer rat._

_Yes, I have a choice. This is my choice. Permanently branded with a necromantic tattoo is infinitely preferable to bearing witness to my sires’ tortured demise. I clench my teeth, ignoring the feral leer of the filthy werewolf Greyback, and the craven regard of Peter Pettigrew. Voldemort himself is not in attendance: a small mercy. It falls to Pettigrew to mark my pallid skin, beneath the watchful eyes of the shopkeepers themselves._

Get on with it! _I want to bellow. A tiny chink of feeble light has infiltrated Greyback’s drawing of the shop’s curtains; its glimmering wink in my peripheral vision is fuelling my wild urge to bolt for safety. But there is no escape from the reality of my life and my choices._

_Pettigrew’s beady eyes gleam as he winds up a lengthy incantation. He nods at Bellatrix, who shoves my left forearm into the bubbling cauldron without forewarning. I scream involuntarily as the scorching liquid fires every nerve ending in the dipped limb. Aunt Bella displays brute strength in holding my arm rigid over the cast-iron pot, as Pettigrew carefully traces the tip of his wand against my scalded flesh. His cruel lips are moving rapidly, but I cannot hear the spell for my own ceaseless howl. Light bursts from the cauldron as though it has exploded, temporarily blinding me._

“No – don’t – don’t!” _I shriek the phrase again and again – or I think I do. The pain impossibly intensifies as I look down to see something black and sinister slithering just beneath my skin, pushing through the epidermal layers until it loops atop my baked, reddened forearm. It manifests as a serpent birthing from the gaping mouth of a skull, twisting in a macabre figure eight with its fanged head cocked backward. My ruby blood leaks from its edges and furrows, making the black ink glisten._

_I am incapable of counting the number of times the magicked snake coils around and through that nefarious death’s head before it finally settles into permanent place. I piss myself before it has finished its searing whirls, the hot urine running down my trousered legs and into my socks and shoes. That tiny caustic corner of my psyche commends my preference for black attire – the pesky stains of various bodily fluids are much less likely to show. Blood drips from my torment-bitten lips and down my chin, as if to underline the prudent wardrobe selection._

_Mother had warned me in a whispered aside to not attempt to fight the process; apparently Voldemort designed the initial application of the_ 'Morsmordre’ _marking spell to inflict maximum possible pain on any of his supporters who were not one hundred percent sympathetic to his heinous crusade. It gives me no satisfaction to admit that she was right. I never thought pain like this possible; it is a marvel that I still stand upright, and remain conscious. As I think this, my knees buckle._

 _Bellatrix jeers in disgust._ “The poor widdle baby boy staggers! Stand up! You are nothing now, nothing but a servant of our Great Lord! Nothing but a tool, to be used and cast aside as our Great Lord sees fit! You pathetic little worm!”

_She spits in my crumpled face. I haven’t the strength to wipe it away. Without Mother’s thin arm around my back, I would fall face-first into the simmering cauldron. My left arm burns both hot and cold. I would hack off the limb if I could – such is the unimaginable, pulsing agony. Mother loops my right arm around her neck and shoulders as she glares at her deranged sister._

“Hush, darling. I have you. We must leave. Hush, Draco.” _I belatedly realize I am still vocalizing_ "No – don’t – don’t!” _, as she somehow half-steers, half-drags my dead weight toward the stone Floo fireplace._

_I catch one last glimpse of the charred Dark Mark before Mother tugs my shirt sleeve over the vile enspelled tattoo._

_The familiar image of sparkling, intelligent chocolate-brown eyes and a burnished mop of riotous mahogany curls flashes into my mind, but for once it fails to bring me any comfort, or the surcease of the excruciating waves of pain._

_She will never want me now, not in a million years… not with the evidence of my rottenness indelibly etched into my skin._

_I made my choice._

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership over those characters or the world of Harry Potter. This story is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official storyline. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story.


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